


Can’t Help It If We’re Tilted

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Because BOYS On Film Look Better [14]
Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Album: Notorious (Duran Duran), Bullets, Drabble, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Growing Up, M/M, Moving On, Sightseeing, Skin Trade, Soft & Heartfelt, Touring, War wounds, men kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: Bullets sway you, knocking you off course.Though these wounds will never be too deep, that Simon can’t stop the blood flowing from John’s aching core.
Relationships: Simon Le Bon/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Series: Because BOYS On Film Look Better [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075265
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Can’t Help It If We’re Tilted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tambsi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tambsi/gifts).



> For Cal, a little Notorious drabble inspired by the gorgeous photos of the crucial three on the road in Italy.
> 
> Especially, the shots of Simon and John at the Leaning Tower of Pisa. 
> 
> Title from _Christine & The Queens. ___

_Italy, 1987_

Hiding in plain sight worked wonders for them at times. Thankfully, this was one of those times.

Though they were in the midst of a gruelling world tour, battling the press day in day out to overcome all the new expectations and challenges they had thrown their way, together, the three notorious survivors. They grew stronger, each and every hit they took.

_Bullets ricochet_ , Simon had learnt that long ago. He had a tough exterior, it was the showman in him that made his thick skin ensure he was virtually untouchable. Shaken, at times, though not stirred so far that he was thrown so far of course. Crooked, tilted perhaps. So why would the waking world keep trying? 

Because he provoked them, dared them. Singled them out and demanded more. Another challenge, another thrill. Another feather in his cap knowing that once again Simon was that one step ahead. Armour at the ready, ready to fight for he; John and Nick once again.

Though he wished, pulling his shirt off to pray, that John could still see the light at the end of their tunnel. Could see that they would level themselves back out, be drawn back to a supportive angle that meant he could stand on his own two feet again.

Simon prayed, knocking himself off of his own supportive axis, for John’s demons couldn’t penetrate him, couldn’t phase him. Couldn’t wear him down; bullets staining his skin and leaving him to bleed dry. Which would be leaving Simon, however close or far the singer may seem, to soak up the blood from a pouring heart.

Which is why, on a day like today, Simon’s heart felt light: there were glimpses of Nigel shining. Hiding, in plain sight, as just another couple of tourists. On their own axis, tilting to the perfect degree. Lovingly smitten, with each other and the glorious sights of that around them. Lost, without a need to be found so soon, in a somewhat secluded area of Pisa.

On a somewhat secluded bench they lay, they were tiny ants in comparison to those at the top of the tower, at the top of the landmark itself.

They weren’t invisible, they knew that. Though, hand in hand, lips parted and pressing softly into each other’s warmth: somehow, they felt invincible. Nobody could touch them. No press could do them any harm, messing up the easy going dynamic and flow.

Though that didn’t mean they weren’t out of harm’s way. They had their own film crew, following their every up and down, the three needing to get ready for their own spotlight. That didn’t bother them, they’d taken to the documentary filming like naturals.

However, thankfully, moments like these were best savoured off of film. These tender moments were preserved, inked into their minds, through their fingertips lighting fires atop of each other’s skin. Through their lips embracing in a deep kiss, stealing breath and breathing life back. Through joyous smiles, beautiful laughs and their own stupid polaroid worthy faces. Full of elation, wonder and bemusement.

Full of love and adoration for the constant they had going. For their axis, tilting to the perfect degree. For Simon, he was in awe as to how John was learning to survive as the last Taylor standing. How he had learnt to cope with their ever developing fan base; having returned to Simon with a whole new set of skills and talent in those fiery bass-ready fingertips. With a whole new determination writ across his gorgeous pinky lips.

For Simon, hand in hand with John, shucked always in their own private part of the world: he felt so at ease, so at peace. Truly, their world was aligning with the stars. Treasuring that there they lay, under the beaming sunlight, cast in a whole new spotlight of their own. One that wouldn’t fade away as the curtains came down and the applause ground to a halt.

_Bullets sway you, knocking you off course,_ Simon thought, now staring at the tower leaning at its infamous, unrecoverable angle. John was now splayed out, head resting in the singer’s lap. A tender hand was brushing the bassist’s brown hair, who sighed in appreciation at the small ministrations Simon gave him. Simon’s own smile was huge, he was gleaming, knowing that whatever bullet he was yet to take; whatever next bullet John _would_ take, he would never truly be broken down. Their world would never truly be blown off course.

Their relationship, outlook on the world was a little tilted, sure, though as a three piece: they had never truly fractured. No bullet could harm them so.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on a whim, in about ten minutes tops. I needed the JoSi softness today, it’s getting me through some tough shit and inner demons.. just like Simon and John are here. 🖤


End file.
